


"Welcome Back [to the War]"- But On the Other Side

by DarkSeth



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Gen, Guns, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, London, Making This Up As I Go, Sebastian and John are friends, Surgery, back-alley surgery actually, dark!john, medical improvisation, probably a lot of ooc-ness gonna happen, the AU of AU's
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:29:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3663933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkSeth/pseuds/DarkSeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain John Watson, still in Afghanistan, continues his friendship with Sebastian Moran who moved back to London after leaving the army. </p><p>John Watson now returned from Afghanistan does not have his fated meeting with Mike Stamford, doesn’t meet Sherlock Holmes as a friend. Instead, he finds life and danger on the other side of the line, as a criminal. The killings are so well executed that it draws the attention of Sherlock Holmes, who starts investigating the criminal underground.</p><p>ON HIATUS<br/>I'm not planning to update this until the entire story is written out, which considering my current circumstances will take a long time to get done. I have no plans to discontinue since I really like this story and want to see it finished, so I will do my best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Afghanistan

**Author's Note:**

> So I finally have a beta, CelianAdellanie (she lives over on fanfic.net)! She's read over my work so far and given good edits. All of the chapters have been updated and I will update them on here. Once that is done I will continue writing.  
> I'm really sorry on how late these updates are, but  
> \----------------------------------  
> The character of Sebastian Moran is more based off the original story than it is the show. However all of the characters have been adapted by me to fit the situation they find themselves in so they will be different, some more so than others. This is the first long multi-chapter story I am very serious about, however do not expect steady updates. I am currently dealing with classes, volunteering with ES, personal issues, friends... you get the picture.
> 
> The story will start off slow with short chapters. I am not comfortable writing extremely long chapters, but that will hopefully go away as the story progresses.
> 
> If you have any ideas for the story, do not be afraid to leave them in the comments. I will gladly listen to what you guys have to say.

“Hey Seb.”  
“John! How’re the Taliban?”  
“Still hate us. You got lucky, getting out when you did. I still got two months left of this fucking tour.”  
“They acting up?”  
“Yep, what else did you expect! By the way, how’s the job coming along?”  
“I quit it. Too fucking quiet. Someone gave me a better offer, so I took it.”  
“Oh, so what are you doing now?”  
“Bodyguard. Not as boring. Quite fun actually. Easy to get along with the boss.”  
“I’m guessing that’s good. Is he someone I know?”  
“Nah,” a phone faintly sounds in the background. “Gotta go. Boss’ got a meeting. Bye John, hear from you in two weeks. Tell me when you get back and I’ll look you up.”  
“Bye Seb. I hope to be in London when I’m done.”  
John hangs up, and quietly collapses against the concrete wall. He’d been up for sixteen hours patching up the casualties from an attacked convoy. Some of them had died, but thankfully some had pulled through and survived. He exhales slowly as he pushes off the wall he had collapsed upon. Hopefully he can catch some sleep before the next bloody group arrives.


	2. Chapter 1: Injured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if these chapters are short. This is the pacing that makes sense to me, but they should get longer once the story picks up. It might seem like there are big time jumps in between chapters, but that is also the pacing and they should make sense anyway.

As John wakes, he is aware of bright lights and shouts of people garbed in white through the haze of shock. The stabbing agony in his shoulder then filters through his consciousness. He lets out a quiet groan. There is a small lull in the noise, and an order is barked out. He feels a small pinch in his arm from, what he recognizes as a needle, and warmth spreads through his veins. Everything fades and he falls blissfully asleep.

When he slowly comes to again , he is again surrounded by bright white. John blinks until a white ceiling comes into focus. As he groans and attempts to roll over, he feels the pain creep back from behind the wall of warmth. The sound of hurried footsteps heralds the arrival of a nurse.  
“Captain Watson. You shouldn’t move.” She helps him slowly lay back down. “Do you need anything?”  
His bleary mind takes a while to process what she is saying. He opens his parched mouth and croaks “Water.”  
She nods her head, brown hair bobbing in its bun, and walks away.

The next time John wakes up , he vaguely remembers the nurse helping him sit up and drink a small glass of water. This time the lights are dim and no one seems to be up. As he tries to stretch, he notices his left shoulder does not move. The wrapped bandages keep it immobile, but not painless. He grits his teeth, and lifts himself up a bit to take stock of himself and his surroundings.

He is the sole occupant in the room. The room, and everything in it, is white: the two beds, tables, chair, walls, floor, and door. Unnaturally white. His nerves are frayed. It feels so unreal after the dirt, sand, and blood of Afghanistan. There is no stifling breeze, no shouts, no explosions. The air is still and quiet. The window is covered, so he is unsure where he is. He suspects he is back in Britain as the hospital room is too clean and he is the only occupant which would be unusual in a war zone. His mind groggily wonders what will happen to him, but the drugs kick back in, and his eyes drift shut.

* * *

 

The man sits, waiting at his desk. It has been four weeks, and no call. Not a single attempt to be contacted. _Is he dead? No. It would be listed. Is he MIA?_ The man pushes down his worry. _He’s probably been too busy with all the casualties. He will call. John’s too stubborn to let the Taliban kill him._

He sits there for a little while, brooding over possibilities, when a door opens and a figure with a mischievous grin and a maniacal glint in his eyes enters.The man quickly stands up. “Yes Boss?”

“Dear Sebby. I’ve told you to call me Jim.”


	3. Chapter 2: London

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know barely anything about firearms (which doesn't make sense since I'm writing a story that will likely have multiple different firearms), so if I make any mistakes, you can politely correct me in a comment.

A steady, persistent beeping filters into John’s conscious. The low hum of traffic penetrates his sleepy mind. Not in Afghanistan. Boredom hounds his every step since being honourably discharged. A slight, continuous twinge in his right leg makes its presence known to his sleep addled brain. As he sits up, his grey eyes surveying the bare, confining quarters. Drab, dull, boring. Standard housing for military discharges. Only two things to fill his day. Boredom and visits to the therapist.

* * *

The ever present smog hangs in the air, not at all helping his dour mood. As he limps along the drab street, his dog tags tapping against his chest,back to the drab flat, not even, and drab, repetitive existence, his ire at the incompetent therapist grows. _Write a blog_ he snorts _I’m a doctor dammit! I **know** this stuff._ He lets out a low growl, startling two nearby dogs. _I’ll prove her wrong. Now I just need to find how._

* * *

It has been two months. No word. A heavy sigh escapes him. Boss has no contacts in Afghan territory that he can utilize. Even then, they would not be in positions in the British or Allied forces. Rather the opposite. _Why have such an extensive network, when it is not even useful in tracking down an army surgeon?_ He checks his .338 Lapua Magnum. Loaded and ready. He leans over to pick up his case and black duffle bag. A sigh escapes him as he sets off for his assignment, thoughts of John pushed to the back of his mind.

 


	4. Chapter 3: Medic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry its taken a while to get this up, I was reading through it and making some last minute edits and was about to post it, when I realized a glaring plot hole. So it took me a while to fix it. Its still not perfect, and my writing for this chapter was shit, but I hope you guys enjoy it anyway!
> 
> Also, I am not a medic, I have not had any serious training as a medic. The closest I’ve gotten is a few first-aid classes and cosplaying as John Watson the army medic. The situation described here is based off the internet and a few discussions with an EMT friend. I tried to stay true to reality, but ya know, artistic license to keep the story going.

The dreary weather, ever present, seems to reflect the mood of his repetitive days. The pub only entices him once a week. The loud, cheery atmosphere and the crowding people give his nerves no rest. It is every soldier's nightmare, pressing crowds, loud, lack of exits, and barely any cover. His sojourns there, when they happened, take place in the early evening, once the lunch crowd has left and the evening crowd has yet to appear.

He had decided to look for a job to alleviate the persistent boredom. A problem had arisen in this endeavor. Every job was too tame and had too much socializing. It was as if after Afghanistan, he couldn’t find the adrenaline rush that was so common in the war zone. Everyone seemed so petty and so absorbed in their world, oblivious to the pain and struggle of life. He found that he could not relate to anyone at all, like a wall stood between him and humanity.

Many an afternoon, he would find himself in his flat, holding his Sig Sauer. The first time he realized what he was holding, he thought _What a way to go_ , but he was not sure if the intended recipient of the bullet was his head or someone else's head. He could tell this thought should have scared him, but he could not bring himself to care. He quietly resigned himself to a life of boredom and apathy.

He had thus resigned himself until an unexpected interruption at the ungodly hour of three in the morning. John is startled out of his light and fitful sleep by a persistent knocking on his door. Opening it he sees two guys, one staunching a wound in his leg that is bleeding.

“We heard that you were a doc in the army.”

“Yeah… What’s this about?”

“My friend here had a bit of an accident.” The man supporting the injured male motions to said injury, “Mind helping him?”

“Why not take him to the ER?”

The other grimaces, “See, I ah, have a bit of history and if I came in with this… you know…” He looks at John hoping that he’d understand.

John pauses, normally he wouldn’t do this but he had a man bleeding out on his doorstep that would probably not go to the hospital, so, why the hell not. At least he could make sure the guy didn’t get too nasty of an infection or something. “Fine, come on in. Let’s see what we got.”

The two make their way inside as John limps into his bathroom to get the first aid kit he put together a while back. Never hurts to be prepared. As he grabs his kit and a blanket off his bed, he tells the injured one to sit on one chair and prop their leg on the other.

“Ok, lets see how bad it is.” After covering the victim with a blanket and uncovering the wound John finds a sight that he is very, very familiar with. “Mind telling me how this happened?”

“Look doc-” The friend starts to protest.

“-Just leave it Pete, ok? This guy is offering to help, least we can do is be honest.” The injured man turns to John. “ I was being stupid, ok? Bit jumpy, had my finger on the trigger- dumb move, I know- got startled by this punk,” here he jerks his finger at the friend, “and ended up with a bullet in my leg.”

John looks up from his assessment. “Do I want to why you had a gun?”

The two look at each other, “Probably not.”

“Ok, now, this might hurt a bit. I don’t have all the proper equipment so I’ll have to improvise. You, Pete your name is?“ The friend nods. “Ok, he’s lost blood and since I don’t have any for a transfusion we’ll just have to give your friend here some fluids. I want you to get a glass of water and make sure your friend drinks it all. Actually have him drink two. Not too quickly mind you, no need for him to get sick. Now I need to ask you a few questions.” Here John turns to his patient. “Focus on me ok?” The patient nods.

“Good, first, what is your name?”

“Sid.”

“Thats good. How old are you?”

“....um, 23?” Sid’s words start slurring.

“Sid, I need you to stay with me. I know you feel sluggish, may even want to fall asleep, but I need you to stay with me. Ok?”

“Sure doc.”

“Now its a good thing that this isn’t a through-and-through since that would have a really messy exit wound, and the lodged bullet is helping to stop the bleeding, but the bad news is that I don’t think I should take it out.” At the protests from the two he continues. “Look, many people live with pieces of metal in them. Since I don’t have the right equipment I wouldn’t feel comfortable digging around your leg. Also, if I do pull it out I might make the injury worse than it is. You guys came to me, trust me here. I have some experience.”

* * *

 Three hours and some drastic improvisation later, John sits back.

“Now thats not perfect, and I would prefer if you got someone with better facilities and resources to look at it, but this should work.”

“Thanks doc.”

“Call me John.”

“Ok, John. Look, I’ll get Sid back to his place, is there anything you need? You just saved my friend.”

John pauses. “Frankly kid, unless you can get me a military field-grade med kit, there’s not much you can do for me. Well, other that go tattling to the authorities that I did a back-alley surgery. Alright?”

“Sure thing. Thanks John.”

“Anytime.”


End file.
